The Sweetest Sounds
by xJadeRainx
Summary: Meet Christopher, a young prince living in the shadow of his seemingly perfect older brother. But when he accidentally stumbles upon something he shouldn't have seen, will he keep his brother's secret? Cinderella with a boyish twist!
1. Falts are Thick where Love is Thin

_The sweetest sounds I'll ever hear..._

Christopher rather unsuccessfully stifled a yawn behind his white gloved hand. He was a prince, after all, which meant he was expected to look presentable at all times. Not to mention the fact his mother would strangle him with her own bare hands, if she ever caught him looking painfully bored at court. Honestly, the night hadn't even started yet, and already poor Christopher felt as if he could pull out all his hair strand by strand. The court herald was only getting to the royal introductions at this very moment, and introductions in the kingdom of Partia took quite the while... and that was putting it lightly.

"His Majesty King Maximilian Godfrey Ladislaus Leopold Sidney Frederick John, with his beloved wife, Her Majesty Queen Constantina Charlotte Ermintrude Guinevere Lorna Marguerite Anne!" the herald called, followed by the loud blaring of trumpets.

Christopher watched as his parents strolled to the center of the ballroom, his mother's arm linked lovingly with that of his father's, but the young prince knew it was only for show. Everything at court was only for show.

Again, Christopher wrestled with the effort of fighting off yet another impolite yawn, and he groaned inwardly, knowing the herald's introductions were still far from over.

"His Royal Highness, first born son of Their Majesties, Benjamin Arthur Abelard Chadwick Dashiell Geoffrey Langston Matthew Zachary David Simon George!" the court herald announced to yet another trumpet fanfare.

Soon thereafter, Christopher's perfect older brother followed their parents suit, making his way to the center of the ballroom all prim and proper, as usual. The man had no flaws! Now, that was annoying, but not as annoying as the fact that women fell all over him... threw themselves at him even. Christopher simply had to roll his eyes at all the beautiful young ladies, who not so subtly fawned over the Crown Prince. What was so spectacular about Ben? Christopher wondered. His dear brother wasn't any better looking than he was, and no girl ever hung on _his_ every last word. Perhaps it was because he wasn't the heir.

There was still one last announcement to be completed... Christopher's introduction. It was in fact an age old Partian tradition to name a newborn child, specifically a royal child, after his ancestors that came before him. This of course meant, after each generation, the names grew longer, and longer. Christopher absolutely dreaded to see the name Ben's first child would end up with. Unfortunate little tyke.

Finally, the herald croaked his name, "His Royal Highness, second son of Their Majesties, Christopher Rupert Windamere Vladimere Carl Alexander Francois Reginald Lancelot Herman Gregory James!"

Christopher forced a polite smile, that his mother insisted he practice since he was a child, upon his face, and waved to the crowd as was expected of him. Then, the prince grudgingly walked to the middle of the ballroom floor, not too fast, but also, not too slow. Christopher didn't want to mortify his mother, now, like he had at the _last_ ball. The prince shuddered at the memory of it. There was no way on God's green Earth, that his mother would ever let Christopher live that incident down. But it wasn't _his_ fault! How was _he_ supposed to know that Duke de Kern was actually Duchess de Kern? The blasted woman had a mustache! And she was seated at the far end of the dining table, directly opposite him, which meant her evening's attire was entirely hidden from view. If only Christopher could have seen the woman's expensive, satin ballgown. At least then he would have _known_!

He could hardly wait for the formalities to end for the evening; maybe then Christopher could slip into a dark corner somewhere, so no one would notice him.

As Prince Christopher reached where the rest of his family stood on the dance floor, the herald and the trumpeters left the royals to themselves, and the king commenced into one of his infamous long winded speeches, to the adoring public. There was nothing Christopher could do at the moment, save smile, and daydream, until his father finally finished his address. He'd survive the boredom... somehow.

"A-hem," a voice soft as warm butter, nipped at his earlobe, "I want you on your best behavior tonight, Christopher. There are many important people from this kingdom present at this ball tonight, and your brother just might find his future bride."

Ben's future bride. That was the true reason behind these balls, his mother hosted roughly every three or four months. The Crown Prince was already two and twenty years old, and still a bachelor. Meaning, the king and queen wanted him married off, and producing heirs.

Sometimes, the prince couldn't stand the way his mother spoke. Really, 'there are many important people from this kingdom present at the ball tonight'! By that logic, the queen's words would imply that there were unimportant people living in the kingdom as well... peasants. His mother avoided peasants like one might a deadly plague. How incredibly pretentious.

"Mother," Christopher gasped in a hushed tone, "are you insinuating that I am ill-behaved? Why, I have never been more insulted in all my life!"

"Just ensure that there will be no trouble from your end tonight, Christopher," the queen sounded exasperated, "your very _best_ behavior."

And that was it. Christopher knew he wasn't going to get another word out of his mother, so there would be no point in trying to irritate the woman any further, unless the prince wanted to waste precious time and breath... which he did not.

"And now, friends, it is time for us all to enjoy the ball," his father finished.

Thank the Lord in Heaven. Christopher thought, readjusting his pristine, white gloves, so that they fit snugly over his fingers. The prince only needed to make sure his face was seen for about a half hour or so, and then he could make an unnoticed escape.

The younger prince retreated to a dimly lit corner of the ballroom biding his time. It was still far too early to leave the festivities without rousing his mother's suspicions. He would have to wait just a tad longer, before he could make his move. In the meantime, Christopher studied his brother, as the Crown Prince waltzed with the seemingly endless stream of eager young women. His brother was like a new toy to these women, all awaiting their rightful turn with him. Christopher watched some more, as his older brother glided about the dance floor with random girl, after random girl. Honestly, Christopher couldn't understand how Ben managed to keep his composure. Always calm. Always witty. Always charming. The man, quite literally, was perfect.

Prince Christopher could hear the flirtatious laughter emitting from a particularly giddy young maiden, and Ben, ever light on his feet, whirled her across the ballroom in graceful circles. Now, Christopher was quite the good dancer himself, but Benjamin was excellent, and it showed in his every movement. Christopher wanted to hate his brother, verily, he carved to hate the man, but the truth of the matter was, Ben hadn't an unlikable bone in his body, he was so good-natured. Of course he was, Benjamin was perfect. Although, Christopher noticed his brother was _not _perfectly at ease this evening. Naturally, the girl was smitten with the Crown Prince, and although Ben was smiling, Christopher could tell his brother was faking. He could see through an insincere smile from a mile away. It was a plastic façade, hiding from view, Ben's true emotions, whatever they might be.

However, Christopher did not have an opportunity to analyze Benjamin any further, as he was tapped unexpectedly on the right shoulder. Turning to face the tapper, Christopher's heart immediately gave a leap from fright. He had initially thought he had come face to face with a sort of ugly troll, but as his senses returned, the prince realized that he was in the company of a young... er... maiden. She was a little on the plump side, with hair orange as pumpkin spice, done in the style of a beehive. Astoundingly, young Christopher was rendered speechless, for a moment.

Remembering his manners, Christopher, tucked his right arm behind his back and bowed to the young lady, who in turn lifted her dress into a terribly ungraceful curtsy. Her gown, Christopher noted, was the most ghastly shade of green he had ever seen. Ever.

"Good evening, Your Highness," the maiden greeted him politely, though her unnaturally high-pitched voice forced the prince to cringe.

"Yes, Good evening, Miss..."

"Prudence," answered the orange haired girl.

"Ah, what a lovely name," Christopher lied, and apparently Prudence bought into it completely, as she was giggling ferociously, "would you care to dance?"

The prince did not wait for the girl to reply, before he swept her into a moderate paced waltz. Did Christopher want to dance with Prudence? Good gracious no, but it was time for him to make his escape, and Prudence was going to help him do so.

'Lovely' Prudence was stepping all over Christopher's toes, but he did his best to ignore it, "You dance divinely."

The prince choked back an undignified snort, as he inconspicuously began to move the girl off the dance floor and towards the nearest exit.

"Your Highness," Prudence began, "might I make a personal remark?"

"Why, of course, love," the prince replied, only really half listening to the maiden.

"Splendid weather we're having," Prudence delivered lamely.

Christopher purposely missed a step in his dance, to make it seem like he was offended, "Now, that _is_ a personal remark!"

"Oh," the girl fretted, "my mother told me not to make a personal remark. She just told me!"

"Then I shall send you directly back to your mother," Christopher stopped dancing altogether, and twirled the girl around, so that she spun like a top, back towards the dance floor.

The prince shook his head at the absurd encounter, and quickly exited to the veranda. Christopher was immediately hit by the chill night air, which was typical for early October, and he had to admit he was disappointed. The moon was totally obscured by dark clouds, and there wasn't a single star in the night sky. How bland. Christopher removed his horn rimed glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. This night was going to drag on for hours, he just knew it. With one heavy sigh, Christopher replaced his glasses, and climbed onto the railing of the veranda. He used to balance on the railing all the time when he was a boy, that was, when is mother wasn't watching. Of course, Christopher was roughly one hundred pounds lighter at the time, but that tiny fact didn't matter. Christopher had excellent balance! Spreading his arms to his sides, Christopher walked to the opposite end of the railing. Easy. Christopher thought. He could afford to be a little braver now. Christoper made a spinning jump, but didn't quite catch his footing upon landing, and one of his boots slipped off the railing. Where the prince should have plummeted to his untimely death, landing in the courtyard stories below, he instead felt a sure, strong hand pulling him back to the safety of the veranda, by his starched shirt collar.

"Always the daredevil, little brother," Benjamin's unamused voice sounded from behind him.

Christopher turned to face his older brother, who had just saved his miserable life. Wonderful. There was another item he could add to Ben's list of perfectness.

"I _slipped_," Christopher defended himself, "it could have happened to anyone."

"When most people go out to the veranda, they don't climb atop the railing," Ben countered, and Christopher knew he was right.

The two brothers stood in silence for a moment, both propping their elbows on the veranda. Although they were three years apart in age, the two almost looked like twins... with a few minor differences. Christopher was tall at an even six feet, but Benjamin towered three inches above him. Christopher had a simply dazzling smile, and Benjamin possessed the very same smile, only with deep-set dimples, that made women swoon in droves. And lastly, both brothers had expressive, hazel eyes, though Christopher's were hidden behind his horn rimmed glasses. Benjamin, however, had perfect vision... all the court physicians agreed.

"I think you shall be missed at the dance, Ben," Christopher remarked, smirking at how his brother cringed at the shorted form of his name. He absolutely hated being called, 'Ben', and that was why Christopher used the nickname religiously.

"I needed a break, and some fresh air," Benjamin answered, "and it was a good thing too, or you'd be a bloody, splattered mess."

"True," Christopher acknowledged, "Did I ever thank you for that?"

"No," his brother replied sourly.

"Mother has got to be searching high and low for you right now," Christopher warned, "do you wish to evoke the woman's wrath?"

"I think, if I have to dance with another one of those gold digging creatures called women, I shall most certainly explode," Ben answered with disdain in his voice.

"Tell me, Ben," Christopher began, "with all the girls you've danced with these last few months, not a single one of them has caught your eye?"

"They're all the same," the Crown Prince groaned, throwing his arms up in the air, "money, hair, and dresses. That's all they care about!"

"Well, you can't put off tying the knot forever," Christopher remarked, "as heir to the throne, you can't be a thirty year old bachelor."

"Now you sound like mother," teased Ben.

Christopher let out a genuinely affronted gasp, "There's no need to go spitting insults, now, Ben."

"I think she has her hopes set on making Lady Emmaline of Torrie my bride," frowned Benjamin, "she's about as dull as they come."

"So, you don't intend on taking Lady Emmaline as the future Mrs. Benjamin Hammerstein, then?"

"Not if _I_ can help it," snorted Ben.

"Well, mother can't choose the woman you're going to marry, for you!" Christopher laughed.

"I wouldn't put it past her," Benjamin argued, and suddenly changed the subject, "why aren't _you_ in there dancing with girls?"

"Mother has expressly forbidden it," Christopher answered his older brother, solemnly, "she has made it perfectly clear, that they are all reserved for you... the pretty ones, that is."

"Well, I can't have them all!" Ben shrieked, "A man can only have one wife, and you'd be doing me a favor... believe me."

The two brothers returned to silence once again, staring out over the courtyard, Christopher's thoughts drifting. Then finally...

"I guess I should be getting back now," Ben sighed, "I owe a certain Prudence a dance."

Christopher shuddered at the name, and silently wished Ben luck. He was going to need it.

* * *

At the end of a very long night, Christopher was left with the likes of his parents, bidding farewell to the guests that decided to straggle. Christopher despised keeping up appearances. Truthfully, he couldn't care less if he never saw any of these people ever again. Only, where was Ben? The ball was being held in his honor, after all. If Christopher had to suffer, why shouldn't Ben? Life was so unfair.

"Father, where is Ben?" Christopher asked, his words disguised behind a large, toothy grin. He had brilliantly white teeth, although Ben's were slightly whiter.

"Your mother said Benjamin was feeling ill, and he retired to his room for the evening." the king answered, behind a toothy grin of his own. Perhaps that was where Christopher learned it from.

Well that was a flat out lie! Christopher was with his brother earlier this evening and Ben seemed perfectly healthy! This was a travesty! They had taken oaths as children to always stick together! It was them against mother and father! Yet, Ben choose to disregard said oath. That simply wouldn't do. Christopher fully intended to give Benjamin a piece of his mind.

As Christopher kissed the hand of the very last heiress, he excused himself to his parents, and headed directly to Ben's quarters. Of all the nerve, leaving him behind to deal with both the guests and their parents... alone! Some big brother he was!

Finally, Christopher reached the door of the room belonging to the Crown Prince, and was just about to knock, when he realized the door was already slightly ajar, and there were voices streaming out the dark crack.

"I can't take much more of this, Benjamin," a sad, familiar voice began, "it isn't fair to me."

The voice sounded an awful lot like Edwin, the son of Lord Kellington, an adviser to his father. Edwin was Ben's best friend; the two were nearly inseparable. Christopher didn't have any clue as to what they were talking about, but seeing as it was private, he decided to leave, and return later.

"You know my feelings for you, Edwin," his brother spoke, in a soft, tender voice, forcing Christopher to stop dead in his tracks.

No. He must have been hearing things out of context. There was no way... Christopher wanted to leave immediately, but his feet wouldn't obey him, and the prince inched closer to the door.

"It kills me to see you dancing with all those girls. You _know_ that." Edwin's voice cracked, in unmistakable hurt.

There were some more whispers that Christopher couldn't quite make out, so he slowly leaned his body against the door frame, so that he might be able to hear better, when... creak.

The door was unexpectedly pushed open, and there in the darkness, stood his brother and Edwin, kissing passionately.

"Oh, dear Lord," Christopher found himself whispering.

His words disturbed the two lovers, as they broke their kiss, and quickly jumped from each others embrace.

"Christopher," breathed Ben, a whole host of emotions contained within that single word.

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

This story is inspired by Rodgers and Hammerstein's endearing musical, Cinderella (1957, 1965, and 1997) I love all three versions!

I'm really excited about this story, and I hope you enjoy it!

So, here it is. Benjamin's Secret. What do you think?

Getting to know you,

xJadeRainx


	2. Benjamin's Flaw

_Are still inside my head._

Sage's hooves clapped against the leaf strewn path of the forest, and Christopher lovingly stroked the thoroughbred's black mane. Sage was a good mare. The prince gripped the reins with lackluster, as he rode between his father and brother. The hounds padded along behind them. The three were on a family hunting trip. Christopher hated hunting trips, and he typically tried to avoid them when he could, but the prince was all out of excuses this time around. Christopher was dreadfully 'sick' during the last hunt his father had planned, and the time before that, Sage had 'run away' from the stables. The prince had spent half a day looking for that mare... or so his father thought. In reality, Christopher had paid the stable hand's son a shiny silver piece to take the mare out grazing somewhere far, far, from the palace. But today... Christopher was fresh out of ideas.

A clear shot rang through the still morning air, and a green ring neck mallard fell from the sky, as the king's men immediately scrambled to collect the kill. Benjamin had made another perfect shot. Christopher shuddered; he disliked the idea of killing animals, which was why he avoided hunts in the first place. He would also miss his mark purposely, to spare the poor creature's life, but that approach could only work so often. If Christopher returned from yet another hunt, without any kill, his father was bound to become suspicious. Really, no one could possibly be _that_ bad of a hunter!

The young prince pulled his charcoal gray cloak closer to his body, and readjusted the rifle that was slug by a strap over his arm. Christopher sighed lightly, his hot breath making a puff of steam in the air. Benjamin hadn't spoken to him at all since the incident last night, which had Christopher worried. Was Ben angry with him? He had wanted to explain himself to his brother earlier in the morning, but there was scarcely any time, seeing as they both needed to ready themselves for the hunt.

Then, the king unexpectedly brought his horse to a canter, pulling ahead of the two princes. This was perfect. His father was far enough ahead of them, so that Christopher could speak to his brother, without the threat of the king overhearing.

"Hello, Ben," Christopher began in a low voice, but his brother did not respond, "I think that if I don't bag any game this time around, father will mount _my_ head to his trophy wall."

Still, there was no response from Benjamin, which highly irritated the younger prince. His little joke was at least chuckle worthy!

Christopher sighed a little heavier, "So, you fancy you can simply ignore me for the rest of our lives, then?"

"You can't tell anyone about what you saw last night," Ben finally answered, although he kept his head straight froward.

"Do you honesty think I am so lowly, that I would go spreading gossip about my own brother?" Christopher asked in disgust.

"I'm sorry," Ben apologized, making eye contact with Christopher for the first time, "you deserve more credit than that."

"I must say," Christopher began, "there are so many things, little things, that make sense now. Your rather unusually close friendship with Edwin... your lack of interest in girls... I don't understand how I could have missed it. My God, Ben. You could have told me."

Christopher glanced over to his brother, and noticed his cheeks had a rosy hue to them. Only, he couldn't quite tell if the color was due to the chill in the air, or if Ben was actually blushing. He had never seen his brother blush before.

"We've been seeing each other in secret for two years now," Benjamin confessed, fiddling nervously with the reins of his horse.

"So," drawled Christopher, who was still trying to wrap his brain around the whole idea, "when do you intend to tell mother and father?"

"Never," Ben answered plainly.

"But..." Christopher's protests were cut short, for a magnificent, eight pointed stag, had just emerged from a particularly dense gathering of fir trees.

Christopher was just thinking he had never seen an animal so beautiful, when another loud bang cut through the still air, and the deer crumpled to the forest ground, in a dead heap. Benjamin never missed a shot; he had perfect aim. The younger prince felt his heart sink, as he looked at the animal's carcass, while the king's men unceremoniously threw the fallen deer into the cart. It was a crying shame that such a healthy, young stag would end up as the focal point of his father's trophy room.

At the sound of the gunshot, the king turned his steed around, excitedly, "Who fired that shot?" his father asked, smiling behind a neatly trimmed beard.

"Christopher did," answered Benjamin, who offered the younger prince a small smile.

Did Ben think he was doing Christopher some sort of favor, by lying to their father on his behalf? He never asked Ben to do that!

The king grinned widely at this, "I just knew you would make a kill today, son," his father began, "it was quite the beauty, too!"

With that, his father turned his horse again, and continued down the forest path. Quite the beauty? Christopher had to agree... _before_ the poor thing was killed!

"Why did you _do_ that?" Christoper growled to his brother, when the king was once again safely out of earshot.

"I don't see what you have against killing animals," Ben quipped, shaking his head in annoyance, "you eat venison, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I do," the younger prince huffed, "but that doesn't mean I want to see a healthy specimen shot down before my very eyes!"

"Well, at least now, father won't be suspicious of you," Benjamin replied, knitting his eyebrows tightly together. Christopher could tell he was thinking about something.

"Oh forget it," Christopher sighed, "and... thank you... for lying about the deer."

"You're welcome," Benjamin nodded once.

They rode in silence for a few short minutes, before Christopher reignited their previous topic of conversation.

"You have to tell mother and father sometime," whispered Christopher.

"I most certainly do not!" Benjamin angrily snapped at him.

"Oh, no?" Christopher laughed in a bitter sort of way, "So, you suppose it's best to let mother waste time, energy, and money on all these balls... balls for the specific purpose of finding you a wife, when you know full well that you will never take one?"

"I," faltered Ben, " I intend to take a bride some day,"

"What!" shrieked Christopher, "Ben, you can't be serious..."

"What's all that bickering over there?" His father called, still ahead of the brothers, on his own horse, "There's no arguing on family hunts!"

"Yes, father," both brothers replied in flat toned unison.

"You can't be serious," Christopher repeated for his brother's benefit.

"I'm the heir to the Partian throne," Benjamin argued, "I must marry and have sons."

"So you will live out the rest of your life, having forsaken the one you love, in return for a loveless marriage, a miserable wife, and children who will most assuredly end up being miserable!"

"It's what's best for the kingdom," Ben dropped his voice into a low warning.

"What about what's best for you?" Christopher challenged, his eyes alight with fire, "Or for Edwin!"

"Edwin... Edwin will understand," the Crown Prince's voice was whisper soft, as he lowered his gaze to the ground beneath his stallion.

Christopher gripped Sage's reins tighter, giving her a silent command to cut in front of Benjamin's path. Ben's horse came to an immediate halt, and Christopher stared his brother down, with hard eyes.

"All my life I thought you were perfect..." Christopher began in disbelief, "that you had now flaws whatsoever."

"Stop it, Christopher," growled Ben, maneuvering his horse around Sage, but the younger prince again blocked his path.

"But you _do_ have a flaw, Ben," Christopher shook his head, "you're a coward."

Kicking his heels in the stirrups, Christopher brought Sage into a full gallop, riding deeper into woods, away from the forest path. Then the young prince let out a loud series of whistles, calling for his trusty dog, Arrow. And the hound chased after him.

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

Now, when I said this story was inspired by the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, I meant exactly that. It's not based on the musical at all; it was simply inspired by it... mainly inspired by the music. The characters looks aren't based on any of the characters from any of the three versions. I used mi imagination for that! One last note, you might see a few references to all three versions, but I take my main inspiration from the 1965 version starring Leslie Ann Warren and Stuart Damon. It's my favorite! The prince was so funny in that movie. He inspired my incarnation of Christopher!

Uh-oh! The brothers had an argument and Christopher ran off... deep into the woods! Could spell trouble.

So, Cinderella was going to make her début in this chapter, but it just didn't seem to fit the mood, so that will probably wait until chapter three.

Getting to like you,

xJadeRainx

PS: Congratulations for Converse r life for winning the chapter naming contest! See, people? It pays to review!

Oh, and a happy 4th of July to my fellow Americans!


	3. Fractured Fairy Tale

_The kindest words I'll ever know..._

Christopher had ridden about an hour's time, deep into the forest. The red and golden foliage of fall was a truly spectacular sight, but the prince was hardly in any position to admire such a thing now. Christopher was sufficiently lost. With a heavy sigh, Christopher pulled tightly on the reins, bringing his horse to a halt, dismounted from Sage's back, and rubbed the mare's brown muzzle. Sage whinnied, apparently pleased at the contact, while his basset hound sniffed along the ground, having caught the scent-trail of some unfortunate creature.

"Looks like we're lost," the prince spoke to his animals, "well, I suppose that's my fault, isn't it? Running alone into the woods wasn't my greatest idea."

Suddenly, a small, gray hare came bounding out from the underbrush, and Arrow took after it, like a dog on a mission. Christopher did not care to see another animal killed this morning, so he brought his fingers to his lips, and produced a sharp whistle. The hound immediately left off his chase, in absolute obedience, and padded over to his master.

"Arrow, down boy!" the prince stooped, and flopped the hound's ears playfully, "We're not hunting today."

Then Christopher stood, to brush dirt and other forest sediment from his riding breeches and tunic. The young prince walked in a sort of slow circular pattern, taking in his surroundings. All Christopher could see was trees, and more trees. Some were deciduous, others were coniferous, but they were all trees none the less, and there were no discerning landmarks whatsoever that might have given the prince any clue as to his current whereabouts.

"Well, at least I know we're in the Forever Wood," Christopher began thoughtfully, as if his animal companions could understand him, "who ever said princes were useless!"

At this, his loyal dog perked his ears, titled his canine head, and let out a playful yelp.

The prince shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, "You wound me, Arrow, with your sarcasm."

Arrow, now lying comfortably in a pile of crisp, fallen leaves, covered both eyes with his paws, and Christopher laughed.

"All right, you two," Christopher grunted, again mounting his mare, "let's explore a bit. Maybe we shall find our way out of here yet."

The prince dug his heels into Sage's stirrups, and the horse started off at a leisurely walking pace. Christopher made a quick glance over his cloaked shoulder, only to see Arrow still reclining happily in a pile of autumn leaves.

"lazy little dog," grinned the prince, who whistled once more, calling for his hound.

After another twenty minutes or so of aimless wandering, Christopher came across a creek bed, and Sage wasted no time in lowering her head to drink. The prince patted the horse's black mane, thinking. Christopher knew that fresh water was invaluable in these parts, which meant, if he followed the creek upstream, he would most likely find civilization. What a brilliant man he truly was!

"Come on, girl," ordered Christopher, tugging on the reins yet again, "this way."

Sage entered into a canter, and the prince did not even have to whistle for his dog this time around. It appeared Arrow must have thought that Christopher would have willingly left him behind, because the hound bounded after the prince at lightning speeds, kicking up leaves and clouds of dust in the process.

As the seconds ticked away into minutes, Christopher still hadn't met another human soul, but he did notice that the gathering of trees was growing thinner as he continued to move upstream with the creek. That was a good sign; it meant that they would be exiting the Forever Wood soon, and Christopher preferred sooner than later.

Christopher's stomach growled ferociously. He had already consumed the light snack Lucille prepared for him, consisting of cheese, bread, and a small canteen of water, a little under a half hour ago. Christopher had left the rest of the food behind with his father and brother, and the prince was only just beginning to regret his reckless and spontaneous nature. Christopher clutched his empty stomach with his hands, thinking up ways to keep his mind off the hunger, but it was no use. If the poor man didn't find any sustenance soon, he would surely starve! Christopher didn't think that he had ever felt so hungry in all his life. Why did being a prince entail such a difficult lifestyle? There certainly could not be another soul on the planet Earth more miserable than he!

The young prince was just about to resign himself to sighing due to his unparalleled woe, when the sound of Arrow's bark interrupted him. That dumb dog had put a damper on Christopher's infamous dramatic tendencies! Oh, well. He thought. It wasn't like the animals could appreciate good drama anyway.

"Quite down, Arrow," Christopher ordered, but when the hound began to run about in quick little circles of excitement, he added, "did you catch the scent of something, boy?"

Christopher had barely finished his sentence, when the basset hound darted off, running to where the prince could only venture a guess. He had only ever seen the dog behave in such a way in one place... the palace kitchens. Had Arrow caught the aroma of someones cooking? Not wanting to loose sight of the dog, Christopher yipped, kicked his toes in the stirrups, and brought Sage to a full gallop.

By the time the prince had caught up with Arrow, he and Sage had just exited the forest. That smart little dog had found their way out of the Forever Wood! Christopher could see a modest cottage a little ways off, sitting alone atop a green hill. Now, all the fairy tales Christopher had ever had read to him as a boy, promised that people who lived in cottages were naturally friendly, and would not hesitate to aid a hungry prince in need. He was going to that cottage.

The prince dismounted from his horse, leading Sage along the ground, by her reins. When he reached the little, yellow cottage, Christopher left his mare to graze in the grass at the foot of the hill, and Arrow went off to chase a terrified looking squirrel. Shaking his head at Arrow's antics, Christopher marched up to the cottage, and knocked firmly on the door. There was no answer, but the prince knew someone had to be home. Something was cooking! He could see the thick, black smoke escaping the chimney flue, and he could smell the savory dish... whatever it was.

"How incredibly rude," Christopher remarked to himself, "Imagine... ignoring the prince! They should be ashamed of themselves!"

Christopher turned to leave, when he noticed a tall apple tree standing prominently nearby the cottage. Apples were edible. Christopher was hungry. The math was simple. For a fleeting moment, Christopher thought that the owners would be unhappy with him eating their apples without permission, but he soon pushed such thoughts aside. If they didn't want him to eat their precious apples, then they shouldn't have ignored him. It was logic, really. The prince rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. He couldn't very well eat the apples that were already littering the ground; they were all more than likely infested with nasty, wriggling worms. No, Christopher would have to climb the tree, and it was just his luck that the reddest, juiciest looking apples were all growing near the highest branches.

The prince blew a tendril of his golden brown hair away from his eyes, and swung his leg over the lowest tree branch. Christopher used to climb trees all the time when he was a boy, that was, when his mother wasn't watching him like a hawk. Granted, the prince was decidedly more nimble when he engaged in such activity all those moons ago, but that small detail didn't matter in the least. Christopher was an excellent tree climber!

It wasn't long before Christopher reached the top of the apple tree, and settled himself comfortably in one of the high branches. Then, the rogue prince plucked a sample of the coveted fruit, buffed it against his tunic sleeve, and began munching happily. For a while, the only sound aside from the birds twittering, was the crunching of Christopher's apple... until he heard something else. He heard singing. Christopher cautiously leaned his body forward, and he realized that he pretty much had a perfect view into the cottage's attic window. There stood a girl, a servant by the looks of her, sweeping away at dust bunnies, and as she swept, she sang.

_I'm a mermaid dancing upon the sea_.  
_ I'm a huntress on an African safari...  
it's a dangerous type of sport and yet it's fun!  
In the night I sally forth to seek my quarry__,  
And I find I forgot to bring my gun.__  
I am lost in the jungle all alone and unarmed__,  
when I meet a lioness in her lair..._

"Hello!" Christopher greeted enthusiastically, when the poor, unsuspecting thing turned to face the circular-framed window.

The girl immediately screeched, having apparently been startled out of her pretty skin, and whacked Christopher over his head, with her sturdy broom.

"Ouch!" the prince cried, "That _hurts_, you know?"

Only his yowls of distress did nothing to deter the girl's assault, and she continued to bring the broom down forcefully, over Christopher's throbbing cranium. The prince was left with no other choice but to defend himself, so he covered his poor head with both hands, causing him to loose his apple, as it fell from his grip, and landed in the grass ten feet below him.

Finally, the frightened maiden let up on her attacks, and Christopher uncovered his head, so that he might look upon his attacker.

"I was still eating that," he grumbled, before Sage trotted over to the half-eaten apple, and nearly swallowed it whole, "greedy little horse."

"Who _are_ you?" the girl questioned indignantly.

"Christopher," he answered simply, as if it were plain as day, "what's your name?"

"I.. you have..." the girl stammered, still in apparent shock at his presence, "get out of that tree!"

"You know," Christopher began, as he purposefully plucked another apple from the tree limb, "you really shouldn't keep your hair tied back in a kerchief like that. One can hardly get a proper look at you," he finished, taking an arrogant bite out of the scrumptious fruit, and it gave a satisfying crunch.

The prince took a good hard look at her, then. The girl was dressed in a drab excuse for a garment, and stray strands of black hair rebelliously escaped from a tattered kerchief, that nearly covered the maiden's striking, cornflower blue eyes.

"It looks as if you could be pretty otherwise," he added, with no other intention than to taunt the girl. Well, she deserved it, after all. She had attacked him completely unprovoked!

Understandably, the girl let out another shriek of rage, and took a swing at Christopher with her broom. However, before the maiden even had a chance to graze the prince with her trusty weapon, Christopher heard an ominous crack, originating from the branch he was straddling.

"Uh-oh," Christopher voiced, before the tree limb completely gave way, and the prince fell with it.

The prince yelped, as gravity claimed him, and he hit each tree branch on his trip down, and he hit them hard.

"Ugh," grunted Christopher, as his heavy, autumn cloak fortunately snagged against the final tree branch, saving the prince from serious injury, "the heavens love me!"

Only, as Christopher finished his narcissistic exclamation, his cloak tore, and he tumbled the remaining two feet to the grassy knoll. As he hit the ground, his rifle discharged, and in result, the stray bullet blew out one of the cottage windows. What luck. In hindsight, Christopher should have set his rifle down at the base of the tree, before he began his valiant climb up. Oh well, the prince couldn't alter the fact now. Christopher whimpered as he stood painfully, rubbing his sore bottom. Well, to say the least, this was not one his most shining moments.

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

Well, it seems we'll have to read about the rest of Prince Christopher's antics next time! How does Christopher get himself into situations like this?

So, as I promised someone very dear to me, this chapter is dedicated to the one and only Cincinnati Jones! I love you Cincinnati! You're the strawberry to my banana! You're the root beer to my float! You're the mashed potatoes to my gravy!

The song the unidentified girl was singing before Christopher frightened her, and before she attacked him with a broom is called. '_In My Own Little Corner_' written by Rodgers and Hammerstein for their musical, _Cinderella_, as I have mentioned several times, is the inspiration for this story!

Getting to hope you like me,

xJadeRainx


	4. Swallowed Pride

_Are waiting to be said.  
_

Now this was embarrassing. Poor Christopher had been knocked from his metaphorical high horse, by that fickle fiend, Karma. The prince's bottom was still sore and throbbing_, _as he continued to massage his aching backside in a rather undignified manner. Due to his recent ordeal, Christopher's horn rimmed gases were askew on his face, and try as he might, the young prince simply could not set them right again. He was fiddling with his glasses just so, when his princely ears caught the sound of a distinctly feminine voice call from the window above.

"Are you all right?" the broom wielding maniac of a maiden inquired, somewhat bitterly, Christopher noted.

"Aye, fair lady," the prince raised his head towards the attic window, shielding his sensitive eyes from the afternoon sun with his right hand, and answered the girl sardonically, "no thanks to you."

Immediately following Christopher's words, the poor, deranged little thing released another of her murderous squeals, and slammed the shudders of the attic window shut, leaving Christopher without so much as a goodbye.

"Honestly," Christopher sighed with a roll of his hazel eyes, "some folks have absolutely no manners whatsoever."

With a shake of his head, the prince decided that it would be most prudent for him to start making his way back to the palace. It had been several hours since Christopher last left his father and brother, and by now the royal family surely had sent out a brigade in search of the helpless prince, lost and lonely in the Forever Wood. Christopher made an aggravated noise in the back of this throat; if he did not return home soon, his mother would cast him into the deepest pit in hellfire for worrying her so.

Craning his neck to the left, Christopher spied his hunting rifle laying abandoned at the foot of his arch nemesis, the deadly apple tree. Glaring at the abominable tree, the injured prince limped over to where his gun lay waiting, giving periodic yelps of pain along the way. Finally, having reached the rifle, Christopher stooped low, and took the weapon in his hands, slinging it over his shoulder by the leather strap. Then he straightened his body, and whistled for his animals, who came faithfully at the sound of his call.

"Arrow. Sage." Christopher spoke sternly in his agitation, "It's time for us to start home, now."

With his dog nipping at his heels, the prince proceeded to place his right foot into Sage's stirrup, and swung his left leg over the horse's back as gingerly as he could. Only, the poor boy could have landed smoother than he did, as he upset a particularly sensitive part of his anatomy, and gasped in even worse pain than before. Christopher cursed under his breath, and slid off his horse, determined to remain sprawled across the grass, until his excruciating suffering subsided.

Christopher simply lied supine on the grassy knoll, as Arrow lapped at his face with a slimy tongue. Ignoring the friendly basset hound, the boy kept his eyes scrunched tightly together, thinking, '_I don't deserve this_.' However, as soon as those words left his mind to float off to some unknown land, the temporarily incapacitated prince heard a silvery laugh hovering just over his head. Her laugh had a pretty sound to it, and if Christopher weren't so annoyed at the moment, he might have appreciated the girl's almost musical giggles.

"You deserved that, you know?" were the girl's exact words, followed by some more of that silvery laughter.

With a heavy sigh, Christopher opened a single eyelid, and from his current vantage point the girl looked about a thousand feet tall, making the prince feel uncomfortably small in her presence. Well, this simply wouldn't do. Christopher would have to rectify this at once.

The boy pushed himself to a sitting position, resting the palms of his hands on the soft grass behind his back, and replied with one of his signature smirks, "I beg to differ, My Lady of the Broom."

Just as he had hoped, his words had some effect on the girl, and she widened her cornflower blue eyes in apparent shock, "You startled me!" she gasped, "It was entirely your fault!"

"Ah yes," Christopher raised an index finger at the girl, "but aside from that initial startling, you lost your temper dismally, and attacked me with your broom, remember?"

Then the girl's cornflower blue eyes lit with a fire Christopher couldn't help but admire, and he thought to speak before she could erupt into another one of her dangerous tantrums.

"Temper, temper," he warned, wagging that very same index finger at the girl whose name he had yet to learn.

She huffed, and displayed her aggravation for Christopher, by crossing her arms across the bodice of her tattered dress, "Who are you, anyway?"

"Christopher," he answered innocently, widening his own eyes at the girl, "But I've already introduced myself. Have you that bad of a memory, or are you simply dimwitted?"

"Why you... you..." the girl was stunned speechless, her face redder than the fruit that grew on the branches of his arch nemesis. Christopher bit down on his lower lip; it was all he could do to keep from laughing at the miserable creature in front of him.

"Now, now," Christopher soothed, flashing a charming smile, "I forgive you. No use beating yourself over what happened in the past. You may help me up now."

The girl took one look at his outstretched hand, turned her head away from him, and spat, "You can go right ahead and help yourself up!"

"All right," Christopher feigned sadness, "but your mother should have instilled you with proper manners."

No sooner had the young prince gotten to his feet, then the maiden whirled angrily around to face him; she delivered him such a deadly look, even the bold young man Christopher was, resigned to take a step backwards.

"You don't know the first thing about my mother!" she screeched, pointing an angry finger at the prince.

"My apologies, miss," Christopher's grin vanished all together, "I didn't think..."

"Oh, but that's just it, isn't it?" her silvery laugh was laced with venom, this time, "You never think, do you? Your tongue only spits the first asinine thing to leave your brain! I've only known you, what, five, maybe ten minutes now, and I can tell as much already!"

The prince could think of no witty reply to this outburst, and stood there stupidly, blinking away in confusion. His horn rimmed glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose several times, and no matter which way Christopher pushed them back up, he was unsuccessful at getting them to rest in their proper place. Christopher flexed his jaw a few times, unable to find adequate words. He had offended this girl somehow. Perhaps her mother had died. For the first time in a very long time, Christopher felt ashamed of himself.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," the prince began softly, lowering his head, a silent gesture begging for the girl's forgiveness. For whatever reason, Christopher simply couldn't bear the idea of this girl being angry with him.

When Christopher again raised his head, he was surprised to see that the girl had covered her mouth with both her hands. This was... this was... curious, to say the least.

"I'm sorry," the girl spilled, when she finally removed her hands from her dainty mouth, "Father always said I had the temper of a kettle ready to be taken off the fire, God bless him."

"No, no," Christopher maintained, "I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the easiest man to get along with."

Once again, the prince's glasses slid down the length of this nose, and the girl laughed that silvery laughter of hers. As he pushed the bent frame back to its original position, Christopher could feel his cheeks flush. Suddenly, he felt uncharacteristically self-conscious of himself.

"Blast it!" he cried, ripping the horn rimmed frame from his face, seeing as it had fallen off his nose again, "this is the third pair of glasses I've bent this month! There's another trip to the eye doctor!"

Christopher waved his arms about his head dramatically, being ever so fond of drama, and his actions caused the young woman to produce even more of that silvery laughter. At this, the prince lowered his arms and pouted.

"Do you derive some kind of pleasure from my misery, Lady of the Broom?" he pouted his best pout, "There's a word for that sort of thing, you know? It's called sadism."

"No, it's nothing of the sort," the girl unsuccessfully attempted to hide her musical giggles behind her hand, "it's just... do you truly purchase a new pair of glasses every time you bend them out of shape? Why don't you simply... unbend them?"

"I never thought of that," Christopher admitted sheepishly, scratching his golden brown hair.

"That's because you _don't_ think." she smirked in her own smug little way, "I believe we established that earlier."

"Touché," Christopher sighed in response, "I never did enjoy having a taste of my own medicine."

"Here," giggling, the girl held out an open palm towards the prince, "let me help you."

Christopher surrendered his glasses, and she reworked the horn rimmed frame with deft little fingers, before replacing them upon his face. And they stayed.

"I... uh... thank you," Christopher managed to blurt out, finding no eloquent speech at this time.

"Oh, it's nothing really. Father showed me how long ago..."

"What's your name?" Christopher suddenly cut in. He felt as if he couldn't go on, if he didn't learn her name.

"My... name?" the girl blinked her striking cornflower blue eyes.

"Yes, your name," the prince repeated, reaching for the girl's arm. Her arm, he noticed, had several foreign blue and purple marks trailing upwards in a sort of spiral. Bruises. "You've got a name, haven't you? I can't very well go on calling you 'Lady of the Broom', now."

"W-well..." the girl stumbled over her words for a moment, "in these parts I'm called... Cinderella."

Cinderella? Christopher mused. What kind of name was that?


	5. Never Take Advice from Bedtime Stories

_The most entrancing sight of all...  
_

Certainly, Christopher had enjoyed the company of beautiful women more times than he could possibly count, courtesy of his mother's painfully dreadful balls. However, none of those beautiful women had ever gripped him like Cinderella's sheer existence did. He couldn't explain it, this sudden and equally intense fascination he experienced with one mere look at the girl. She was nothing like the duchesses and heiresses who so frequently attended his mother's balls in a desperate bid for a well-bred mate. She was wasn't made up, all dressed to the nines, with a painted face and long, red nails. No. Plain and simply, Cinderella was... Cinderella, and that, well, Christopher found that refreshing. Granted, Cinderella's 'self' was covered in layers of dirt, and clothed in tattered fabrics, but her lovely cornflower blue eyes sparkled like crystal in the afternoon sunlight, and Christopher found himself wondering just how she might react if he were to kiss her. And so, the young prince did exactly that. With a single, fluid movement, Christopher closed the small gap between them, and swept the disheveled maiden into an unexpected kiss. When the prince finally pulled away from the girl, after a minute or so had passed, Cinderella was left fluttering her eyelids in utter confusion. Christopher, of course, was left feeling wholly satisfied, having accomplished his goal, that was until the flat of Cinderella's palm connected with the prince's left cheek in a deafening smack. Letting out a slow breath, Christopher brought his large hand to his face, in hopes of rubbing away the sting.

As Christopher stood there tending to yet another unwelcome assault on the part of Cinderella, he contemplated how a simple kiss could have turned around on him so quickly. The prince had thoroughly weighed the probable consequences in the thirty-odd seconds before he decided to kiss her, and came up short of any negatives. In all the fairy tales, in all the books his mother had ever ordered the servants read to him as a child at bedtime, not a single one of them had ever described the beautiful maiden actually daring to strike the prince's face. His face! It was Christopher's biggest asset, and now it was red, and welted. He didn't deserve such ill-treatment, truly, and Christopher blamed the story books. How could they have so grossly mislead him all these nineteen years?

"I cannot believe you, sir," Cinderella at last began in shock and disgust, giving Christopher a hard jab in the center of his chest, with an extended index finger, "exactly who do you think you_ are_?"

"Christopher," the prince replied with an exaggerated sigh, "we've already addressed this matter several times now. Christopher. My name is Christopher, if you could please try to remember that..."

"That is not what I meant, and you know it, _Christopher_," she added his name to the end, with just the right amount of sarcastic bite.

"I must confess, miss, that I am confused as to why you are so upset with me," Christopher wiggled his dark eyebrows, just to annoy the girl, "After all, women the wide world over beg to know the feel of Christopher's lips."

"You flatter yourself, I'm sure," Cinderella hissed at him, her previously sparkling eyes had turned to a cold glare, "you can't parade around willy-nilly stealing kisses from poor, unsuspecting women!"

"Why not?" Christopher asked calmly, stroking his beardless chin in mock interest.

"Because," the girl sputtered for a moment, "you simply can't... it just isn't proper!"

"Please elaborate, if you will. Scholars in accredited universities across the globe would be highly interested in the matter. "

"Ho, ho," Cinderella glowered, crossing her arms for affect, "aren't you the clever one, Mister _Christopher_? If that even is your real name!"

Christopher then took another step towards the maiden, feeling strangely comfortable in such close proximity to Cinderella, as if he had known her his whole life, and whispered in her ear.

"Tell me, Cinderella, did I steal your first kiss?"

Cinderella shrieked again, with such volume, that it caused a low-pitched ringing in Christopher's right ear. The prince casually stuck his finger in the cavity, thinking it might stop the infernal noise. It did not.

"You might want to work on that temper, my dear," Christopher warned, still digging in his ear, "you might inadvertently hurt someone."

"I've decided," Cinderella sternly proclaimed.

"You've decided what, dear?"

"I've decided that I do _not_ like you," she explained though narrowed eyes, "and don't try to rearrange my words into a disillusioned self-compliment!"

"Well Cinderella, dislike is only love in another form, as they say."

"Not in this particular case, trust me."

"Cinderella?"

"I'm almost afraid to ask," she sighed exasperatingly, throwing her arms in the air above her head.

"What is that awful smell?" Christopher choked, wrinkling his nose.

With that, Cinderella's face went ashen as she exhaled, "Dinner."

Pivoting on the balls of her feet, she fled Christopher's presence, hurrying back into the house. Having piqued his curiosity, Christopher was close behind the maiden, and ducked his head to enter the low doorway. As he did, his body was engulfed in a dense, black smoke that wafted through the entirety of the small cottage. The prince couldn't so much as breathe without taking in a lungful of smoky air, so he utilized his heavy autumn cloak as a shield for his nose and mouth.

"The windows!" He heard a panicked Cinderella yell out to him, though he couldn't see her on account of the smoke, "Help me open the windows!"

Christopher obeyed, stretching his arms out in front of him in search of any nearby windows. He found a small one near a corner and undid the latch, so that he could prop the window open. Once he did, the dense smoke wasted no time barreling out of the newly introduced exit. The air quality took an immediate turn for the better, the prince noted. Moving along, Christopher's fingers discovered a long sill, surely belonging to another window, and felt along its edge for the latch. When his fingers discovered the brass latch, he immediately flipped it upwards, and moved to push open the glass pane, only to find that the window was already gone. Then, Christopher remembered he had unintentionally shattered the window with a stray bullet from his rifle. Oops. With a quick shake of his head, Christopher continued to help Cinderella throw open the cottage windows, until at last, most of the smoke had cleared the small home.

"Well, that was quite the ordeal, wouldn't you say?" Christopher joked, but when he heard no reply, he turned to face Cinderella.

The girl was standing unmoving, with her arms crossed once again, fuming at him.

"What?" Christopher asked innocently, shrugging his shoulders for good measure.

"This. Is. All. Your. Fault." Cinderella articulated, "Again!"

"Me?" the prince gasped, offended, "I'm not the one who allowed dinner to burn. You can't be so forgetful, my dear."

"Get out of my way," the girl dismissed him with a shove as she advanced towards the fireplace, where a large black pot sat smoldering on the fireplace.

Cinderella knelt along the floor, kicking off her worn slippers in the process. Picking up the fire bellows that had laid forgotten near the hearthstone, she bent over the dying embers in an attempt to rekindle the flames. Christopher watched in interest as Cinderella pumped the bellows together a few times before giving up entirely, buried her face in the palms of her hands and began to cry.

Poor Christopher was beside himself. Princes were instructed in matters like diplomacy, fencing, and even table etiquette, but he was never trained in dealing with a crying woman. What was a man to do now? It occurred to the prince, that he should try to comfort Cinderella, so he cleared his throat once, and knelt on one knee beside her. The maiden glanced over at him for a minute, and Christopher noted how her face was smudged with ashes in her endeavor to bellow the dwindling fire. Ashes, or cinders. Ah, now he understood. _Cinder_-ella. Funny. Only, it wasn't funny at all.

"Dinner ruined," he heard her murmur weakly.

"Now, now, Cinderella..."

"How am... I going... to explain," she managed between sniffles.

"Things could be worse," Christopher soothed, placing a hand against her surprisingly small shoulder, "just think of it, you could have set the whole cottage ablaze with your carelessness, but entire structure is still standing , thank the Lord."

Too soon for jokes it seemed, for his words were met with one of Cinderella's infamous dagger-like glares, and Christopher flinched backwards instinctively. If looks could kill, it would be prudent to take precautions, after all.

"This can't be happening to me," she subtly shook her head, "not to me. I've never done anything to hurt anyone!"

The young prince was tempted to point out that she had indeed hurt him several times throughout the afternoon, but thought better of himself. The girl was clearly distraught, and any off color remarks on his part would more than likely result in a matching red welt on his right cheek. So, veering from his customary wisecracks, Christopher decided to try his hand at comforting a maiden in distress after-all.

Christopher reached out his fingers to push aside a strand of Cinderella's black hair that had escaped her aged kerchief, only to have the girl shove away his hand as if his touch were composed of fire. In her efforts to keep Christopher at bay, the young prince again noticed the double trail of purple bruises that spiraled all along her thin arms. And he wondered if he had inadvertently made Cinderella's life exponentially worse.

He paused for a moment, before his mouth could find the words he was looking for, "I... I can help you."

"No you can't," Cinderella's tone was so void of any emotion that it duly alarmed the prince.

"Oh, but I can," Christopher promised, "if you'd only stop a minute to listen...here..."

Christopher moved to take the girls hands in his, but she pushed him away so forcefully that he stumbled backwards for a moment, landing square on his buttocks. Cinderella stood then, in a rush, and the prince cautiously followed suit.

"I don't want you to touch me!"

"Fine," Christopher replied, spreading his hands wide, in a defensive gesture.

"I don't want your help, either!"

"Please, try to understand..."

"I don't know who you are, or why you came here, but I want you to leave my home at once!" She erupted in a shout of rage, and began to push Christopher out the door that was still wide open, left that way when they had so hastily entered the cottage.

"I will leave," Christopher announced to keep the peace between them.

The prince stepped backwards out of the door, never taking is eyes away from the angry woman before him. When he stepped back into the daylight, he realized by the angle of the sun, that it was far past noon, and his parents would have crossed worry's threshold ages ago. He would have to leave soon, anyway. Cinderella followed him outside, still fuming, and still directing strings on semi-comprehensible insults at him. If Christopher thought some fresh air would do the girl some good, he was wrong.

"You oafish, insufferable..." Cinderella's voice caught in the back of her throat, as her face turned a deadly pallid for the second time that day, "what happened to stepmother's garden?"

"Eh, what?" Christopher questioned, as he turned to survey the scene of Cinderella's distress, and his princely mouth dropped open on its hinges.

When Christopher arrived at the residence, there had been a lush plot of land on either side of the small, yellow cottage, green with grass, and flowers, and bushes. Now, however, there were only mounds of dirt, where Arrow had been digging, and long, headless stems, the only remains of the flowers Sage had apparently munched on. Cinderella's garden, wasn't much of a garden anymore.

"Stepmother's garden," the maiden's voice cracked, and Christopher felt a deep pang of sorrow at the sound, vastly different from the silvery, bell-like laughter Cinderella had graced him with earlier that afternoon.

"Cinderella..." the prince was almost at a rare loss for words.

"Just... go, please," the girl's voice was only above a whisper, as she placed a slender hand to her forehead.

"All right, but first..." Christopher paused to fish a draw string pouch from his belt, and pressed a gold coin in Cinderella's palm, "for the shattered window, so sorry."

He turned away from her for a moment, but paused again, this time placing a silver coin in the girl's still open palm, "And for the dinner fiasco."

Cinderella only nodded her acknowledgment, and Christopher turned away for a third time, but was once again stopped by his nagging conscience. Pulling out a bronze coin, he tucked the cold piece of currency in her hand, and closed her dainty fingers around all three coins.

"That's for the garden," Christopher winced, "words cannot express my remorse."

"Thank you," Cinderella offered lifelessly.

Gazing upon the blatantly distressed maiden, Christopher cursed himself, and unhooked the entire money pouch from his rawhide belt.

"Here, just take it all," the prince sighed, handing her the jingling pouch.

But, Cinderella refused his offer with a single shake of her head, and try as he might, the girl would simply not accept the small fortune. The prince reluctantly tucked the pouch back into his belt, and whistled for his animals. The little rascals came running to him, blanketed in dirt and grass, outward signs of their sins against the garden, and Christopher's ears grew red from embarrassment.

Brushing off Sage's fur a little with both hands, he mounted his horse, "I can stay if you need me to, Cinderella."

The maiden shook her head again, "No, you'll only make things worse. Stepmother always hated surprises."

"I..." Christopher sighed, not really knowing what to say to the poor thing, "farewell."

And with those not- so- eloquent parting words, Christopher kicked his heels in Sage's stirrups, whistled for his basset hound to follow, and rode off like the wind.

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

Well, hello and happy new year, friends. I must say to any of you who are still reading this, or any of my other stories, you have the patience of a saint and should all have your own feast days.

Deservedly, this chapter is dedicated to a certain KiabaslilDevil. You are the greatest almost sister ever!

Thanks for reading, and free hugs and kisses for all who review!

Getting to know you, putting it my way, but nicely,

xJadeRainx


	6. Round About

_Is yet for me to see.  
_

Apparently, the narrow dirt pathway leading away from Cinderella's modest yellow cottage was not very far off the main cobblestone road that would take the prince to the village. Christopher would have sworn until he was blue-faced that his trek through the Forever Wood had brought him to the heart of the middle of nowhere. But alas, Cinderella's home stood just a ten minute ride from the old footbridge. As the prince guided his mare, Sage, across the rough, stone bridge, he stopped at the very middle to look down at the creek below. The harsh autumn wind rippled the cool water, distorting his reflection, and Christopher realized this must be the very same stream he had followed to the cottage. This meant, of course, the prince hadn't ridden as far into the forest as he first thought. No, he had simply taken a round-about route circling the town. Christopher's sense of direction was near useless, it seemed, and that caused a major blow to his princely ego. Drawing his cloak tighter around his frame, Christopher continued to stare broodingly at his four-eyed reflection. His face was beginning to swell now, due to all Cinderella's zealous attacks against him, and there were some minor abrasions he had acquired in that infamous fall from the apple tree. He could look worse, Christopher supposed, but he didn't appear much of a prince, by any means. Somehow, his basset hound, Arrow, had wandered unnoticed from the footbridge, and decided to go for a quick swim. The dog splashed happily about the creek, rippling the water, and shattering Christopher's reflection completely. Oh well, no good ever came from staring at oneself all day long, anyway. It was time to move on.

"Come on boy," Christopher whistled for the hound to follow, as Sage clattered along the stony footbridge.

When the prince finally rediscovered civilization, he dismounted from his horse, rewarding her with a loving pat on her muzzle. Arrow, Christopher noticed, was distracted by the varying sounds and smells of the village, and was running about in his usual quick circles of excitement. Christopher could only hope there were no stray cats lurking anywhere nearby. There would be no controlling the hound at that point. When the dog cut sharply underneath his legs, nearly knocking him off-balance, Christopher understood. Arrow did not want to simply sit and wait around, and neither did the prince, come to think of it.

Christopher grabbed hold of the reins, and lead sage through the village square on foot, until he found the livery. The sign read: Openmoor Stables. The place looked promising enough, though Christopher had never employed these people before. Typically, the stables were mainly utilized by travelers who needed somewhere to keep their horses while they were held up in town. But today, Christopher was in no hurry to return home and face his livid parents, so, he might as well take the time to enjoy the village. Peering inside Openmoor's doorway, Christopher saw a young, red-haired boy busily tending to three other horses.

"Little boy," the prince began, gaining the child's attention, "who heads of this establishment?"

"I do," the boy pointed proudly to himself with his thumb, "ever since my papa died, mama let me run the family business."

"I see," Christopher nodded, "would you mind keeping an eye on my horse for a bit?"

"Not for_ free_," scoffed the boy.

"Of course not."

"Well, have you got any money?" the child whined, resting his hands on his hips.

"Have I got any money?" Christopher mimicked the miniature stable hand," what do you call this?"

The prince paused to fish a gold coin from his drawstring pouch, and the boy gaped at it with green, saucer-like eyes. Christopher knew the boy likely hadn't seen so much money in his short lifespan.

"But sir," the child sputtered, "the fee is only two coppers!"

Coppers? Why, the smallest denomination Christopher even held in his pouch was a bronze piece. Two coppers. Could people truly survive off so little?

"It's all right. I have plenty," the prince smiled kindly, "you can use it to help your mother, yes?"

The boy reached out his little hand for the coin, but drew back in a moment's hesitation, probably suspicious of Christopher's intentions. The young prince nodded once, a silent gesture of encouragement, and the boy hastily snatched up the coin and buried it in his trouser pocket.

"She's a fine horse," the child remarked thoughtfully, leading sage to an open stall, "but her coat could use a decent brushing."

"We've had a long day," sighed the prince.

"It looks it."

"Say, what's your name, lad?" inquired Christopher, as the boy picked up a currycomb intended for Sage.

"Liam. Liam Destry."

"Pleasure to meet you, Liam. I'm Christopher, if you can remember that."

"Why shouldn't I remember?"

"Never mind," Christopher snorted in amusement, ruffling the boy's red hair, "I'll return for my horse within the next hour or so."

Young Liam murmured a distracted goodbye to the prince, as he worked to brush down Sage's brown coat with the currycomb. He was a fine little groom, Christopher had to admit. With a final look behind his shoulder, the prince left the stables to enter the village once more.

* * *

**Ultra Special Blah Blah Blah**

Well, luckily for you readers, there was a massive snow/ice storm in my area which left me with three hours of nothing to do, so I wrote this chapter to alleviate my boredom. I hope it didn't bore you too much, but I did enjoy writing this chapter. Christopher may be one narcissistic, irritating creep, (I mean seriously, he thinks the entire would revolves around him. Does anyone else get that vibe?) but I envision him with a heart of gold and a black and white sense of what is right and what is wrong. I felt that this chapter was necessary, and again, I hope you enjoyed.

You are precisely my cup of tea,

xJadeRainx


	7. Wishing

_And the dearest love in all the world..._

Upon exiting Liam's stables, Prince Christopher caught Arrow in the act of harassing a defenseless, gray pigeon. However, as soon as the basset hound realized his master had returned, the animal left the bird alone, sat on his haunches, and looked upon Christopher with round, brown eyes that conveyed pure innocence.

"Don't look at me like that, dog," the prince began, shaking his head in disappointment, "I saw you badgering that poor pigeon."

Arrow whined then, as if he was offended by Christopher's words, and laid his head on the ground between his front paws.

"I won't have any of that, now," Christopher nodded seriously, "let's go. Come on, boy."

And as Christopher began to ease himself into the crowded village square, Arrow was sure to trail no more than a stone's throw behind him.

Had Christopher ever ventured into the village before? Yes, certainly he had, but never on his own. As a prince, there was rarely ever a time when he was left to himself. His father's men were always nearby in case danger were to strike. But what were they protecting him from, exactly? Christopher pondered. The villagers seemed harmless enough, going about their daily business. No one was paying him any mind at all, for that matter. When he was a boy, Christopher had refined a useful skill – giving the guards the slip. Unfortunately, that was no longer feasible for Christopher. It was much easier to hide from the guards when he was a mere four feet tall. The prince sighed, and wondered how much longer he could remain incognito, especially when his father had surely sent his men out to search for him hours ago.

"Good sir, kind sir?" a small, quiet voice forced the prince from his musings.

Christopher found himself facing an adolescent girl, no more that thirteen years, holding a basket of blue flowers. Cornflowers. The prince recognized them, because the petals were the same shade as Cinderella's captivating blue eyes.

"Care to buy some of me flowers, sir? Will only cost you one copper a piece," the young girl finished, looking up at him with hopeful, brown eyes.

Coppers again, Christopher realized. How did these people earn their bread on a few measly coppers a day?

What's your name, love?" the prince inquired with a charming smile.

"Violet."

"Violet? Shouldn't you be selling violets then, Violet?"

"I got no violets, sir, but I do got some lovely cornflowers. For your sweetheart, maybe?"

"I've no sweetheart."

"Your mother, then?"

"Ah, yes, I do have one of those. Indeed, I do," he answered with a dramatic roll of his hazel eyes.

"Only one copper!" chimed Violet cheerfully.

"I haven't got any coppers." Christopher told the girl truthfully.

"Then good day, sir," the flower girl exhaled unhappily, before turning away from the secret prince.

"Wait, Violet," Christopher called after her, and the girl stopped dead in her tracks, only to glare back at him.

"Look, I got to sell these here flowers, and if you're not going to buy any, then I got to move on."

"I don't have any coppers..."

It seemed that Violet didn't care to hear the rest of whatever Christopher had to say, as she turned away from him in a huff. Now, he couldn't be sure, but Christopher thought he heard the girl mumble the word 'cheap' under her aggravated breath. Of course, the prince was just about to prove the poor thing wrong.

"Wait, Violet."

"What!" shrieked the young peddler highly irritated.

Her scream had drawn attention to them, Christopher noticed, as several villagers were now staring. Two men, near his father's age, narrowed their eyes at him in a mixture of what the prince believed was suspicion and disapproval. Christopher felt the tips of his ears heat up, as he was suddenly, and highly aware of how the scene appeared in the eyes of the villagers. He wasn't harassing the poor girl, at least, he hadn't meant to. Perhaps he should have thought his little game through a little better than he had.

"How many flowers can I get for this?" Christopher fished a coin at random from his drawstring pouch. It came up silver.

The little flower girl scrutinized the coin that shone silver in the afternoon light, and wagged a finger at the young prince, "This is a joke, ain't it? I don't take kindly to jokes, sir."

"It's no joke, Violet. I never jest, honest."

Granted, that last part wasn't exactly true, but Christopher was earnest about the first part.

Again, Violet regarded the secret prince in disbelief, but when Christopher closed her bony fingers around the cold, silver coin, she adopted a completely new demeanor.

"For that much sir, you can have the whole bushel!" she exclaimed, shoving the coarse, wicker basket into Christopher's arms.

"Um, thank you?" Christopher squeaked, for the girl had trust the basket of flowers into his midsection so forcefully, that it knocked the very wind out of him. What in the blazes was he going to do with a wicker basket filled to its brim with cornflowers?

"No, thank you sir!" Violet cried happily, "Looks like me work is done for the day."

And then the girl skipped off.

A baffled Prince Christopher stared at the ever-shrinking figure of young Violet as she disappeared into the bustling crowd. His arms were still wrapped awkwardly around the wicker basket, and the prince was unsure of how he would unload all these flowers. Christopher really held no desire to keep them, but he didn't want to simply drop the basket in the town streets either. Oh well. Christopher supposed he would sort things out as he went.

Shifting the basket's position, Christopher gripped it by the handle and causally strolled deeper into the village, whistling for Arrow to follow. It wasn't very long before Christopher noticed that several attractive young women would snicker, and hide their giggling faces behind their slender hands. The prince's ears burned with embarrassment again, as he pictured the scene from the eyes of the various villagers. He imagined the sight of a grown man toting a large basket of flowers would be highly amusing. Amusing... if it were anyone else! Completely emasculated, the prince sunk his head low to his shoulders, and trudged on.

Christopher enjoyed his observation of the villagers. The village itself was chaotic. People always moving. Sellers shouting about their wares to a passerby. Children playing. The scrumptious smells wafting from bakeries. A friendly butcher had even tossed a section of sausage out his shop window for Arrow to gnaw. The dog took the meat up immediately.

All this was all such a delightful contrast from the monotony of palace living. The only time the palace halls were this chaotic, was when servants were busy preparing for one of his mother's balls. And that was not to be enjoyed, but endured.

One scene in particular caught Christopher's eyes. He couldn't help but notice that a handsome couple appeared to be having a bit of a spat on the public streets, and by the looks of it, the young gentleman was on the losing end of the argument. Christopher couldn't guess what the quarrel was about, but he could at lest do something to help the poor bloke. Inconspicuously, Christopher wormed himself between the squabbling lovers, and in an effort of keeping the peace, he tucked one of his cornflowers into the hands of a surprised young woman. The secret prince then clapped his fellow man on the shoulder, and departed with a wink. As he left, Christopher couldn't help but steal a glance back at the couple. They both seemed much happier now. Christopher hoped his gesture of good will would be a catalyst to help smooth things over for the couple. It was up to them now.

Having traipsed about the village for some time now, Christopher found himself in the very heart of the square. It was a pleasant looking space with quaint wooden benches for the weary to rest themselves. It was quieter here than the other parts of the village. People were scattered here and there picnicking with their families. It was already mid autumn, and Christopher guessed families were making the best of the fair weather before winter made it too cold for picnicking. There were lots of children too. Running. Playing. The girls typically didn't stray from skipping rope and hand games, while the boys engaged in more physical games... tag, or something of the like. And in the middle of it all was a great fountain that trickled sparkling water from the mouth of a wise looking old woman.

The prince remembered this fountain. It was called The Fairy Godmother's Well. Christopher used to wish on it when he was a boy. Of course, he couldn't recall if a single one of them ever came true.

When Arrow spotted the fountain, the dog wasted no time jumping into the well, paddling and splashing about.

"You won't find any fish in there, Arrow," the prince laughed, "only wishes!"

Obliging himself to sit along the fountain's edge, Christopher placed the basket beside him, as he mindlessly peeled petals off the stem of a cornflower and placed each blue petal, one by one in the cool water. He listened to the birds twitter away in the trees, as he watched the petals slowly float away from him only to rest at the bare feet of the old, stone woman.

Christopher's quite was disturbed however, when two little boys appeared at his feet, staring at him curiously.

"Might I help you?" asked the secret prince with a smirk.

The two boys gave one another puzzled looks, before the older of the two piped up.

"You're supposed to wish on _coins_, not _petals_!"

"Yeah," agreed the younger with a nod, "not _petals_!"

"Well, perhaps it doesn't make a difference?"

"I've never head of wishing on _petals_ before!"

"Yeah, I've never heard of _wishing_ on _petals_!" echoed the younger.

"You're brothers aren't you?" Christopher inquired grinning. He could recognize a pair of brothers anywhere.

"What does it matter to you?"

"Yeah, what does it matter to you?"

Delightful boys, truly.

"It doesn't really," Christopher dismissed, "now, run off and play."

The boys scampered to the opposite side of the fountain and began a game of pretend. They were still in ear shot, so Christopher, the dignified prince that he was, eavesdropped.

"Now, I'll be Prince Benjamin and you'll be my subject, okay Jacob?"

"No, Hiram!" the younger one shouted, as if he had been slighted, "I was the subject last time. I want to be Prince Benjamin!"

"You can't. I'm _older!_"

Ouch. Christopher had heard those same words many times before.

"So what? We're _pretending!"_

The little one had an excellent point, Christopher had to agree.

The secret prince shook his head at the brothers' antics and returned his attention to plucking the attractive blue petals and letting them fall into the clear water. These cornflowers reminded him of the girl he had met earlier. The petals were exactly like her eyes. The color, at least. Cinderella. _Cinderella_. Christopher liked this girl, and he couldn't seem chase the image of her out of his brain. Her eyes were something special. Never before had Christopher witnessed so many emotions in anyone's eyes. Cinderella had gone from surprise, to anger, to remorse, to glee, to playful, to cheeky, to grief-stricken, and he could swear he saw fear in them. All these emotions in a span of … what? Ten minutes? Of course this was mostly because he had pressed her, irritated her for his own personal enjoyment, but he couldn't blame himself too much. No one was perfect. Yes, her eyes were something special. Her eyes, and the rest of her. Oh, and the purple bruises spiraling up the length of her arms. Christopher remembered those too, ever so clearly.

At about this point, Christopher realized the two warring brothers had not yet resolved who would play Prince _Benjamin_, and their argument was now beginning to get out of hand. It was at least creating enough of a disturbance that citizens were beginning to gawk. If someone didn't intercept soon, there was going to be a bloodbath. Sighing, Christopher pushed himself off from his comfortable seat at the fountain, brushed off his breeches, picked up his basket of cornflowers, and walked in a semi circle to where the brothers stood arguing.

"What's with all this bickering?" Christopher furrowed his brows.

Dear Lord, he sounded exactly like his father.

"He won't let me be prince Benjamin!" cried the younger boy, Jacob, as Christopher recalled, and suddenly kicked his brother in the shin.

"Ouch!"

"Stop it, stop it," the secret prince reasoned, "you don't have to quarrel like this. Partia has two princes. We have two princes, and you are two brothers. One of you can be Prince Benjamin, and the other Prince Christopher, no?"

"Well, that makes sense, I guess," the older Hiram commented, "but I still want to be Prince Benjamin."

"Why's that?"

"Because Benjamin gets the throne!"

The young prince rolled his eyes in defeat. Even children preferred his older brother to him. Christopher squinted at the boys through the glare of the setting sun, and again noted the lateness of the evening. His parents must be worried. Worried and furious.

'It's getting late, boys," Christopher sighed exasperatingly, "why not head home? Your mother might be wondering where you've gone off to. You can play your game tomorrow."

"Hey," Hiram began, "can we bring some of those flowers home to our mum?"

"Sure. I have plenty."

"Why do you have so many flowers anyway?" Jacob questioned.

Christopher shrugged, "Because I think their pretty... and they remind me of someone."

"A girl?"

"Yes."

"Yuck."

"Double yuck."

The corners of Christopher's mouth twitched slightly with the effort of suppressing a grin. He remembered sharing the same sentiments many years ago. But things were quite different now. Quite different. Shaking his head at the boys' naivety, Christopher offered up his basket of cornflowers, and each boy plucked a great handful for their mother, before scampering away with a quick goodbye.

The secret prince watched the two brothers go for a little while, but before very long he heard a familiar deep voice.

"Your Highness, there you are!"

One of his father's men.

"Hello, Balin," Christopher greeted half heartily when the palace guard drew near.

"The king and queen have been out of their minds with worry. My battalion searched the Forever Wood twice over. And what happened to your face?" Balin asked, gesturing to the numerous abrasions that adorned Christopher's face.

"Ruffians," answered the prince, No one would ever believe he fell from a tree before being assaulted by a broom wielding maiden, anyway.

"No," gasped Balin.

"I'm fine, really. Shall we go now?"

The guard turned to escort Christopher back to the palace, but the prince hesitated for a moment. He pulled a silver piece from his drawstring pouch... it was his last one. Christopher had given away all the money he had taken with him. Turning the shining coin over in his fingers a few times, Christopher tossed it into the fountain where it settled with a soft pluck. He had made a wish in Cinderella's honor. May her wildest dreams come true.

Then, Christopher let out a sharp whistle and Arrow withdrew from his splashing in the fountain, and shook his wet fur all over Christopher's clothing.

"Thanks, dog," the prince groaned, "let's go home, boy."


	8. Slugabed

_Is waiting somewhere for me._

An irritating shaft of sunlight sneakily peeked through the heavy autumn curtains in Christopher's bedroom. The sunbeam danced about the lavish room, taunting him: _Christopher, it's time to wake up_!

"Mmmn," murmured the prince in a groggy half-sleep, "It can't be morning. It's far too early for morning."

So, in an act of defiance, Christopher pulled his warm, down comforter over his head, effectively blocking out the rest of the offending light. Then he rolled himself into a snug little cocoon, and murmured to himself happily. Nothing was getting him out of bed this morning. After all, the prince needed a chance to recuperate from his ordeal yesterday. Yes, Christopher was quite comfortable exactly where he was. Until...

"Rise and shine, Your Highness! "the familiar voice of the head maid suddenly exclaimed, catching the young prince off guard, that he flinched involuntarily.

"Good morning, Lucille," Christopher grumbled, "now, go away... please."

"I can't do that, I'm afraid" chirped the maid like a morning lark, "the king and queen have demanded your presence at breakfast in a half hour's time. No exceptions. No excuses."

"You're ever too jolly in the morning, Lucille. It simply isn't natural, I say."

"Pish-posh, you slugabed! You've been exactly the same since you were a wee boy snoring away in your cocoon of a comforter like some kind of caterpillar!"

Christopher heard Lucille rustling the curtains at the French windows, and he could automatically sense the room flooding with more of that dreadful sunlight.

"I don't snore..."

"It's already a quarter to eight. You've slept in long enough, dear. Breakfast is waiting."

"Well, you can tell mother and father that I am not feeling up to breakfast this morning. I'm ill, you see," Christopher coughed inside his artificial chrysalis for added dramatic effect.

"Oh, none of that!" Lucille cried, and the prince felt the maid's plump little hands give a great tug on his down comforter.

With one movement, Lucille had unraveled his comforter-cocoon completely, and with a final tug, he had fallen off the bed, and onto the floor.

"Ugh."

"Like I said Your Highness, rise and shine."

As he listened to Lucille's footsteps retreat from his room, Christopher imagined her plump little finger wagging at him. The young prince knew that he probably should get up, and get dressed, but he didn't really feel like complying at the moment. Instead, Christopher, the rebel that he was, remained sprawled across the floor with his face buried in the throw rug beside his bed.

Sighing in dismay, the young prince lazily flipped onto his back, and rubbed the sleepy hazel orbs in his head. Why did the life of royalty entail such grief? Christopher was now firmly convinced that no other soul on planet Earth was more miserable than he. Licking his lips a few times, Christopher snorted in defeat and pulled himself up using the edge of the bed for support. Finally on his feet, Christopher kicked his comforter aside in annoyance and reached for his glasses lying undisturbed on his nightstand. Habitually placing his horn rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose, Christopher actively stretched the lingering sleep from his body. The Prince barely had enough time to loosen his bare shoulders before his eardrums were accosted by a horrified scream.

"I beg your pardon!"

Turning his head to face the origin of the cry, Christopher's gaze was met by a pair of round, doe-like brown eyes of a young woman outfitted from head to toe in the official chamber maid's uniform. The poor thing was seemingly petrified, her cheeks flushing in various shades of pinks and deep purples. Finally pushed to the very brink of embarrassment, the maid covered her deep brown eyes with both hands.

"I was only sent in to clean, Your Highness. I didn't know you were _indecent_, I swear."

Christopher grinned to himself, "Have you never heard of knocking, miss..."

"Hedy."

"Hedy?"

"Yes, Sire."

"That hardly seems befitting of your timid demeanor."

"True, I hear that often," the girl managed in a meek voice, wringing her hands nervously.

"Oh well," Christopher shrugged, still shirtless," what's in a name, right?"

The young, timid Hedy nodded once, keeping her eyes averted from the half naked prince.

"May I ask you a question, Hedy?"

"Of course, Your Highness," she answered, still turning her pink-cheeked face from Christopher's gaze."

"All right. Wonderful," Christopher chimed, rushing to the girl.

Taking her by the hands, he lead her to the bed and gestured for Hedy to sit. The chamber maid reluctantly obeyed, sitting uncomfortably at the edge of Christopher's bed.

"How old are you, Hedy?"

"Eighteen," replied the girl, clearly distraught, as she let out a shaky breath.

"Eighteen..." Christopher repeated, stroking his chin pensively."

The Prince stood towering over the chambermaid who was still sitting uneasily at the edge of his bed. Poor Hedy was quite terrified at the present moment, but Christopher was far too preoccupied with tapping his chin to notice her discomfort. The young prince couldn't help himself, though. This girl... this Hedy reminded him so of Cinderella. They were about the same age, Hedy and Cinderella. Well, as far as Christopher could tell. And that set him to wondering. The prince didn't know much about girls, or young women, rather. But Christopher assumed that all girls similar in age would behave in the same manner. How complex of a place could the female mind be? The prince decided then to ask Hedy a few general questions. With any luck, this little chamber maid could help him to better understand the one girl Christopher couldn't quite expel from his brain since their initial meeting. Cinderella.

Christopher knelt before Hedy, and the girl seemed nearly in tears. The prince was slightly baffled that the maid would respond in such a way, but thought best to ignore it.

"Hedy," Christopher began, cupping the chamber maid's hands gently in his, "how might a man tell if a young woman is sweet on him?"

Hedy's whole body went rigid, but before she could provide any sort of reply...

"What in God's name is going on here!" Lucille cried, aghast.

Poor Hedy immediately burst into a waterfall of tears and darted out of the room as if the entire palace had been set ablaze.

"What did you do to that poor child?"

"I only wanted to ask her a simple question," Christopher shrugged in his shirtless oblivion.

"A simple question?" the head maid mimicked, "is that what they're calling it these days?"

"Calling what?"

"Defiling a virgin!"

At the very words, Christopher's jaw dropped as every last ounce of air was expelled from his lungs. And for the first time that morning, the prince was embarrassingly aware of how his innocent curiosity could easily have been mistaken for some deep-rooted carnal desire. What with him being half dressed and sitting on his bed so closely to poor Hedy...

"Defiling! Lucille, tell me you didn't think... do you mean to say that Hedy actually believed I would... _you_ don't doubt me, do you, Lucille?"

I suggest you stop talking Your Highness, and put your brain directly back in your skull where it belongs. Now, get dressed and go down to breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am," sighed Christopher in his shame.


	9. Breakfast of Champions

_Is waiting somewhere..._

Thank God breakfasts at the palace were casual. Christopher managed to stuff his body into a plain white shirt and smooth brown trousers. There was a total of three buttons on the prince's outfit this morning. Two on his shirt, and one to fasten his pants. There was nothing that annoyed the prince more than an abundance of buttons.

By the time young Christopher drew open the doors to the private dining area, his parents and brother were already seated and waiting. Breakfasts were always exclusive. Royal family members only.

"Good morning, all," Christopher greeted as he approached the medium sized table, remembering to give his mother the customary kiss on the cheek. The moment Christopher's lips touched the queen's face, he could feel her muscles tense. Which meant only one thing: his mother was perturbed.

"We were expecting you fifteen minutes ago, Christopher."

"Well, I'm here now."

"You do know how much your father values promptness."

"Yes, mother, I know," Christopher grumbled, taking his seat next to his brother.

"We were beginning to grow impatient."

"My deepest apologies, really," Christopher delivered, resisting the urge to clench his teeth. They were carrying on like a wait of fifteen minutes was a great favor to ask.

"No worries," Benjamin began with a smile, "I have enough patience for all of us."

His parents laughed heartily at the joke, though Christopher bit the inside of his cheek, wishing breakfast would end soon.

"Shall we begin, then?" asked Ben through his dazzling, renowned smile.

"Yes, yes."

Christopher picked a spoon off the pristine white table cloth, and caught his distorted reflection. Although his head appeared bulbous and misshapen, he could still make out a few slight scratches and a little purpling underneath his left eye. At least the swelling went down, Christopher thought, as he replaced the spoon on the table next to his empty ceramic plate. He noticed then, a tall glass vase brimming with cornflowers acted as this morning's centerpiece. The prince grinned slightly to himself. He had brought home an entire basket full the previous night.

"Those ruffians sure did a number on you, little brother." Ben remarked, "How large was the gang? Four, er, five men did you say?"

"Actually," quipped Christopher, plucking a blue flower from the delicate vase, and gingerly tucking it into his shirt pocket, "a maiden beat me repeatedly with a broom after she caught me swiping apples from her family tree. It was a long fall back to Earth."

Ben chuckled, but his mother was unamused.

"Now's not the time for jokes, Christopher." The queen began, "Darling, are those ruffians in custody yet?"

"I'm afraid not, my dear. I sent out four of my best guards to scour the area, and there have been no leads to date?"

His mother looked horror stricken and emitted a frustrated tisk-tisk noise. Christopher had to covertly roll his eyes. The mere thought of his mother actually caring was a joke in and of itself. Funny enough to cause the young prince to let out an undignified snort, which he quickly transformed into a pseudo coughing fit.

"Excuse me," Christopher apologized after his 'coughing fit' had subsided.

"Perhaps you should have that cough of yours examined, Christopher."

"No, really, mother, I'm perfectly fine."

"But really, we don't want to take chances, now. Especially after those ruffians attacked you so viciously. Today it's a harmless cough, and tomorrow..."

"I said I'm fine," Christopher interrupted tersely. He was really quite tired of his mother's false concern for his well being.

"All right, little brother," Benjamin sounded annoyed, "we heard you."

"Yes," agreed the King, then changing the subject began, "How are the plans coming for next weeks ball, my dear?"

"Oh, things are coming along nicely. Since the date coincides with this years harvest, I was thinking of using brimming cornucopias as center pieces..."

"Another ball," gagged Christopher, appalled, "we only hosted a ball days ago. I won't attend."

"You will respect your mother's wishes, Christopher," the King resolved.

"I simply don't see the point," whined the prince, "two balls in two weeks?"

"You're brother needs an heir. Before Benjamin can beget a son, he must first take a wife. Hosting a ball is the tried and true method to meeting eligible young ladies."

Christopher raised an eyebrow at his brother. Benjamin only glared at him in return. The younger prince sighed, and ran his fingers through his golden brown hair.

"Ben, do you remember when we were children... before we were allowed to attend balls? The three of us would sit at the top of the grand staircase, and look down at the guests, and Sarah would comment on their funny outfits..."

There was a sharp intake of air in his mother's general direction, and Christopher realized immediately what he had done. Benjamin was shaking his head, his mother looked faint, and his father was red-faced in anger.

"You deliberately upset your mother," the king accused.

"I did not."

"Father," Benjamin was in rescue mode," I don't think it was a malicious attack on Christopher's part..."

"I'm through pretending like she never existed."

"That's enough!" Thundered his father.

Thankfully, the double doors flew open at that moment, and servants began to file systematically into the room holding shining silver platters of foodstuffs. The help worked quickly, and fluidly, placing the trays neatly on the table before the royal family. Christopher never took much notice before, but the servants seemed so precise, so coordinated. It was almost a thing of beauty. The younger prince remained transfixed, that was until the head maid, Lucille spilled a droplet of water on his shoulder.

"I do beg your pardon, your highness."

"It'll all right. No harm done." Christopher began suspiciously. He had a nagging feeling Lucille had done that purposefully after what she had witnessed earlier that morning.

The royal family began to eat, and when Lucille turned to leave, she jabbed Christopher sharply in the back of his head with her elbow.

"Ow!" yelped the prince.

"Oh dear," Lucille gasped a little too convincing for Christopher's taste, "it seems I'm all thumbs this morning."

"I've never known you to be that clumsy, Lucille," grumbled Christopher rubbing his head, "I think I've tolerated enough abuse to last me straight through the Apocalypse."

The head maid shrugged, and waddled towards the door.

Before she parted the royals, Lucille remarked, "When you've finished, I'll send my granddaughter Hedy to clear the table."

With that she closed the door, and the maid's ill treatment of Christopher was made crystal clear to him. The prince shook his head. I would likely be some time before Lucille forgave him for frightening Hedy the way he did. Finally, Christopher turned to his breakfast plate and hungrily shoved a fork full of scrambled eggs into his mouth. The hot eggs slid down his throat, and settled happily into his empty stomach. The food, he noted, was perfectly seasoned with the prince's favorite herb: sage. At that thought, however, Christopher's brows knitted tightly together. Sage. His horse, Sage. Last night he had left the mare at Openmoor Stables, the town livery, and completely forgotten about her. Forgetting all manners, Christopher rested both elbows on the table and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Something wrong, Christopher?" Benjamin inquired, as his father was too absorbed in fanning the near fainting queen. His mother was still swooning from Christopher's recent faux pas. His parent's never seemed to notice Christopher's distress.

Christopher only ran his fingers through his golden brown hair, and shook his head as if to clear his mind.

"No," replied the young prince, standing, "but there's something I have to see to in town."

And Christopher left his family to their own devices.


End file.
